Not So Supernatural
by Bontaque
Summary: I can't take credit for the idea behind this fic. Supernatural if Mary was killed by a human and the boys hunted and killed humans who deserved it. Bloodthirsty Wincest with knife and blood play.
1. Chapter 1

"What are you doing here?" Sam asked. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his brother and he didn't appreciate surprise appearances.

"Dad's on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days."

_Fuck._ Did this have to happen now? He was happy, almost normal.

"Jess, excuse us. We have to go outside," Sam said to his confused girlfriend. Once they were out of earshot, he changed his tone. "You can't just break in in the middle of the night and expect me to hit the road with you."

"You're not hearing me, Sammy. Dad's missing. You need to help me find him."

Sam sighed. Dean was obviously going to still treat him like a child. This had happened before; their Dad had dropped off the map a few times when he was hunting, it was nothing new.

"Remember Amhurst? What about Clifton? He was missing then too. He's always missing and he's always fine."

"Not for this long. Now are you going to come with me or not?"

No. He wasn't going. He wasn't going to do this again, he was happy and he was going to keep it that way. He didn't want to hunt and he certainly didn't need to.

"Dean, I'm not coming with you."

"I can't do this alone," his brother said and Sam almost laughed.

"Yes you can."

"Yeah, well I don't want to."

Sam sighed again. He shouldn't be getting sucked back into it this easily.

"Who was he hunting?"

Sam watched as Dean opened the trunk of the car and pulled out some paper. He tried not to look at the discreet bulges he could see in the false bottom of the trunk, tried not to think about the weapons he knew were concealed there. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he had missed them. He'd missed the guns and the glinting knives. It had always been the knives.

"Last I heard, he was going to Jericho," Dean said, handing him some files on missing people, all male. There were ten people in total, all last seen on the same stretch of road over the last twenty years.

"That's a long time," Sam said. "What do you think, one person or multiple?"

"Dad thought it was one. He went out there three weeks ago and I haven't heard from him since," Dean replied. "Are you coming?"

"One condition," Sam said. He knew Dean was going to laugh. "I need to get back by Monday morning. I have an interview."

"A job interview? Skip it."

"It's a law school interview and it's my whole future on a plate."

"Law school?" Dean's expression was mildly amused. He didn't need this.

"So, we got a deal or not?"

Dean waited in the car for Sam to pack. He knew he'd get him eventually but it always confused him how much persuasion it took to get Sam on board. Maybe it was just because he'd been young, but their mother's murder had never affected him as much. He didn't have the thirst for revenge, for justice. Sure, he had the bloodlust, he had that in spades, but that wasn't always enough. Finally, Sam was slipping in beside him, his bag clinking ominously as he threw it onto the back seat.

"What's in the bag?" he asked.

"If I'm doing this, I'm doing it properly," Sam replied, the corner of his mouth twitching oddly. Dean knew what that must mean.

"You kept it?" Sam had a thing for knives, he always had. He had his favourites and had often sulked when they were younger if Dean hadn't let him use the one that he wanted. On one of their hunts, they'd been tracking a man that seemed to have an even bigger passion than his brother and he'd never forget the look in Sam's eyes when they found his collection. He'd had one with an ornate wooden handle that Sam had taken a shine to and their father had let him keep it for a job well done. Since that day, Sam had refused to use anything else.

"Of course, it's gorgeous."

"But... you said you were stopping. You said you couldn't control it anymore. I just thought you'd have gotten rid of it."

"No," Sam said with a smirk. "I just haven't been using it. On anyone else."

Dean kept his eyes on the road. He wasn't rising to this. He knew that, no matter how lax his brother's morals might be in some areas, he was faithful. He was just teasing him.


	2. Chapter 2

"So, they've all disappeared from here?" Sam asked, looking down the seemingly normal stretch of road.

"Seems like it. What do you think?"

"Well, they've all been male. I've read about a few cases where women have been punishing men they think deserve it."

"Deserve? What do you mean?"

"It's usually an issue of faithfulness. There was this one woman in England that abducted men that had cheated on their wives and made them kill themselves."

"How?"

"She threatened the wives. From the reports, it seemed like a few of them weren't going to sacrifice themselves, so she slit their throats."

Sam noticed the way that his brother's mouth twitched as he relayed what he'd read. No matter what they said, no matter how many times their Dad had told them that they were doing the right thing, they'd always known that it wasn't. It wasn't normal that Sam had kept a knife under his pillow the way most guys would keep lube or tissues or that Dean practically salivated when he used words like _slit_.

"So we're probably looking for a woman?" Dean asked.

"I guess, if it's the same thing."

Dean walked back to the car and Sam followed. They'd done this so many times, they barely needed to speak about it. First step: investigate the scene thoroughly. That meant the whole stretch of road. Sam got into the car and reached back to open his bag. The blade caught the light of the glovebox as pulled it out and moved aside so he could conceal it inside his jacket.

"What's in there?" he asked as Dean snapped the glovebox shut.

"You've got your weapon of choice and I've got mine, Sammy." Oh. He'd almost forgotten. Dean had always favoured substance and he tended to go for smaller knives. If he was right, Dean would have a flick knife in there. It got the job done, sure, but it lacked the... class that Sam preferred.

"Don't call me Sammy. I'm not a kid anymore."

"Whatever you say," Dean said as he started the engine. "Sammy."

Dean drove slowly down the road, looking out for anything out of the ordinary. He didn't expect to find much tonight. Maybe he'd be able to test his brother's faithfulness when they got to a motel. It wouldn't be the worst thing he'd ever done. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Sam shifting in his seat, no doubt trying to find a way to sit where the knife inside his jacket wouldn't cut him. The blade was way too big, much too fancy but he couldn't disagree that it was pretty. It looked good on his brother. Dean made sure to keep his eyes on the road as he felt himself start to get hard. Not now. He needed to focus.

"Wait. There's someone there."

Dean slowed the car down and pulled to a stop beside a girl. No, a woman. As he looked closely, he saw that she was probably mid to late forties, maybe older, made up to look younger. She was probably pretty when she was young.

"You need a ride?" he asked and she nodded, moving around to the back of the car. As the door opened, Dean took note of the meaningful look his brother gave him. This could be their killer.

"Where are you headed tonight?" Dean asked as he pulled away. The woman shifted in her seat and he saw Sam grip the knife through his clothing.

"Just down the road. It's just one road, I know, but it's a long one," she said. Her voice was strange, cold. Not unfamiliar. He'd heard something similar in his father's and that would have been good enough for him. He knew Sam, though, he knew he'd have to wait. It wasn't long before he got his confirmation. She was quick, he could giver her that. In a flash, she had her arm around Sam's neck, a long knife pressed up against his throat.

"Keep driving, or I cut this pretty face of his," she screamed and Dean felt his heart skip. _Fuck. _

"Oh baby, it wont be the first time," Sam said with a grin and he had the knife out of her hands before Dean could see how he'd done it. The woman seemed too shocked for words before Dean reached into the glove compartment and pulled the syringe out, plunging it into her arm. She did try, she did. It was cute really. As she lost all function in her legs, she tried to open the door. What she would have done if they weren't locked, Dean didn't know. At this speed, she would have at least done herself some damage. Not as much as they were about to, though.


	3. Chapter 3

"Nothing, nobody."

"You sure?" Sam asked as Dean got back into the the car and started to drive towards the house he'd just checked out.

"Pretty certain. Someone's been in there, though. Might've been her."

"Make sure you park round the back, then. Just in case."

When the car pulled up, Sam stepped out carefully, trying to step on the firmest ground so he wouldn't leave deep prints. They'd be bck to clear the ground later, but this just made it easier. He heard the door click as Dean unlocked it from the inside and he opened the door. Together, they moved the woman into the house, Dean holding her by the ankles, helping Sam to prop her up against the first wall he saw.

"There's a chair table in the next room that I thought would work," he said. "Let me just go and get the stuff."

As he waited for Dean to return with everything they needed, he hoisted the woman over his shoulder and carried her to the table. He hadn't really needed Dean's help to move people for years, not since his penultimate growth spurt, but it was something of a ritual. When Dean returned, he passed him some lengths of rope and he bound their prey to the table tightly. He'd never forget his fifth birthday, the time he'd been allowed to learn how to properly secure people in fifteen different ways. It was something of a speciality of his; Dean was always better at the disposal and the chasing. Sam wouldn't deny that it felt good to be doing this again. They could argue and fight as much as they wanted, but whenever they hunted like this together, the two brothers worked seamlessly, the well suited pair that they had been raised to be.

"How long do we have?" Sam asked as he needlessly checked the ropes. They were perfect.

"I'd say ten minutes," Dean replied with a smirk. There was a time when they'd find a way to fill this time in a way that would seem inappropriate, even to people not shocked by the fact that they had an unconscious person tied up somewhere nearby. They'd had to keep it a secret from everyone, including their father, but Sam thought that that was probably why they did it.

"So, what's it like being with her?" Dean asked. Sam knew that this would be coming, he just didn't expect it whilst they were working. Dean had looked surprised when Jessica had appeared at his side, when she'd taken his hand. Sure, she had been the first woman he'd been with and he knew that Dean knew this. They might not have spoken about who they'd slept with when he was still living at home, but that didn't stop them from still knowing every detail of each other's sex lives. It was hard to miss when they knew how each other worked. When Sam saw Dean looking at someone the way he'd usually look at him, he knew. It was obvious.

"It's fine, just a little different."

"Have you told her?"

"What? That I've been with men? With you? No."

"Wait? What?" Dean asked, realisation dawning on his face. "I didn't mean with a woman, Sam. I meant with someone so... normal."

_Oh. That. _"Dean, not now, okay?"

"Oh, sorry, I hit a nerve?"

"No, Dean, look. She's coming round."

Sam walked over to the table and reached into the duffel bag his brother had placed under it, his fingers closing around the familiar box. He pulled out the first scalpel and looked down at the woman before him. He was assuming, sure, but he'd done this enough to be able to.

"What's your name?"

"Fuck you," she breathed lightly, eyes fluttering. He'd assumed correctly. They barely ever co-operated at this point. He lowered the scalpel purposefully, as Dean walked around to the other side. He always loved to watch. She screamed, high and shrill as the scalpel ran along his throat.

"Shut up, it's not deep. But it will be," Sam said. "Tell me your name. Now."

"...Constance"

"Okay, Constance, I'm going to need you to answer some questions."

"And why would I do that? You're just going to kill me anyway."

It was the same, it always was. Sam waited. This was where Dean stepped in.

"Well, Constance, let's just say we have a code. You have a code, we have a code, we're all the same here."

"But if you let me go, I'll just go to the police."

"No, you wont. You want justice, don't you? So do we, we're just looking for someone and we need to know if you've seen him."

"Well you could have just asked."

"Sorry, Constance, you're the one who pulled a knife on my brother here."

Sam twiddled the scalpel idly as Dean spoke. He watched the blood from his incision dripping slowly down her neck, watched as Dean's eyes followed it too. Dean stepped forwards slowly and Sam knew what he was thinking.

"No. No you don't," he said, holding out his hand to stop him. "You don't know where she's been."

Sam bent down to the bag again and pulled out the papers from earlier, holding one out so that she could see the photograph.

"Was this you? Did you kill him?" he asked. She said nothing. Predictable, again. "We're not judging, we just need to know."

"Constance, this'll be over if you stop wasting our time. We approve. We'll let you go.

"Yes. He was one of mine, three years ago," she said.

There, that was what they needed.

"And this guy? Have you seen him?" Sam asked, holding up a photograph of their father.

A pause. A twirl of a scalpel. "No, I don't think I've seen him. Honestly."

"If you're lying, I _will_ kill you," Sam said, lowering the scalpel, watching Dean's eyes following it.

"I'm not! I haven't seen him!"

"I believe her, Sam. Stop."

Sam put the scalpel back in the box and closed the lid, savouring the sound of the clasp. He watched Dean unravel a large plastic sheet, laying it out on the floor.

"Wh-what are you guys doing?" Constance asked as the two of them lifted the table and moved it into the middle of the sheet.

"We lied."

Sam stepped back and watched Dean to work, trying to ignore the way his blood ran south as he watched his brother stuff a thick strip of fabric into the woman's mouth. Her screams were muffled but still audible. He remembered how many people they had practised on, perfecting the amount of fabric. They never wanted them completely silent.

"You watching, Sam?" Dean asked as he flicked the blade of his knife out. He was unashamedly staring at Sam's crotch, his mouth twitching in the same way as earlier.

She was crying now and Sam knew that Dean liked it when they cried. He watched as his eyes flicked back and forth between her bloodshot eyes and the obvious tent in Sam's jeans.

"Come on Dean, get to it," he said. For a second, he hated how much he wanted this, but then Dean was cutting and she was screaming. The blood spilled over onto the floor as Dean cut into her neck, deepening the incision he'd made before. Sam knew Dean hadn't had a kill for a while, he wasn't savouring this. It was fast, purposeful. He stepped closer, the metallic scent of blood filling his nostils as he looked at her face, her eyes cold. She was dead.

"That was quick, been a while?" he asked.

"Longer than I'd like," Dean replied, watching as the blood dripped onto the plastic sheet. Sam watched his tongue run across his lips.

"Dean, seriously, no."

"What?" Dean asked, surprised. "Why not."

"You deserve better." Sam didn't want to think of his brother tasting her. Not some random killer they'd picked up on the side of the road.

"Well, I don't seem to be able to get anything better. Not lately." The way that Dean was staring at him, at his neck, shouldn't have been making his cock throb so hard.

"Let's just get back to work, shall we?"

They moved forwards and Sam began to untie her. He moved her onto the plastic sheet as Dean pulled a small saw out of the bag and began to cut the table into smaller parts. Wrapping the table up with the body, they carried the plastic out to the back of the house.

"Hey, look! Ready made!" Dean chuckled. There was a deep ditch just behind the car; they didn't need to dig a pit. Sam dumped the rolled up plastic containing the remains of the woman and the table into it and waited for Dean to return with the duffel bag. The gasoline fumes were almost sweet, a firm favourite of Sam's. He dropped the lit match as Dean watched. Burning in a pit was an easy disposal, Dean was probably bored. Sam didn't want to think about what he'd gotten up to without him.

"Motel?" Dean asked eventually, once the last few scraps of wood, plastic and flesh began to burn.

Sam nodded. They got back into the car after clearing their prints from the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

Sam looked over at the clock. It was nearly one in the morning. He wasn't sure what had woken him immediately but then he heard a small moan. It was muffled and when Sam looked over at his brother's bed, he saw why. Dean had the back of his left fist pressed against his mouth and he seemed to be biting down, hard. It wasn't a new sight, but Sam hadn't seen it for a few years now, since he hadn't stayed in a hotel room with his brother for a while. He never was sure which came first, the need to muffle his moans or the desire for pain, but Sam knew that this was a habit Dean had kept up even when he wasn't in a bed next to him or their dad.

Dean bit down hard until he tasted the coppery blood begin to flow from his skin. He could almost feel Sam's eyes on him and he smiled. Even if he was going to insist on being faithful, Dean could put on a show for him. He shifted in the bed, pulling back the sheets in a way that could have been accidental. Even in the dim light of the room, he knew Sam could see him, he knew because he heard his sharp intake of breath. Dean wrapped his fingers around his erection and squeezed it hard, thrusting into his hand. He listened to Sam's breathing, the way he was almost sighing and Dean wondered if he was only watching now. He tried not to picture Sam too vividly, it wasn't anything romantic, he just knew where he stood with his brother and he understood what he needed. That didn't stop his name slipping out as he moaned again, the blood dripping down his face.

Sam froze. Dean had just whispered, breathed his name. Did he know he was awake? He decided to wait and when he didn't hear it again, he opened his eyes a crack and saw Dean's back arching on the bed, his hips bucking noiselessly. His cock throbbed under the covers as he caught the scent of blood in the air. Did this count as unfaithful? He'd been so good. He hadn't even thought about anyone else since he'd been with Jess and he wasn't sure he wanted to break that streak, even if nobody would know.

"Oh f-fffuck..." came Dean's voice and Sam felt like his words were running through him. He watched as Dean removed his hand from his mouth and ran it down his body, digging his nails into his chest, leaving a thin trail of blood. When he opened his mouth again, another gasp and a small moan, Sam could see that his teeth were stained red and he wanted to kiss him, to taste it. _Fuck. _He jammed his hands under his back. He was not doing this.

Dean had done everything he could think of, everything he thought would work and Sam was still resisting. He couldn't hold on any longer, and he squeezed his cock tightly as he dragged his arm back up his body, the friction on the wound pushing him over the edge.

Sam bit his lip as he heard Dean come and instantly regretted it. The sharp pain sent a fresh surge of blood and need to his cock and he had to breathe deeply to stop himself from acting on it. He listened to his brother cleaning up and wondered if he'd be leaving the blood where it was. He wasn't sure how long he lay there before he fell asleep, but it was much longer than he was comfortable with.

"If you want to use the shower before check out, you're gonna have to get up now."

Sam opened his eyes and sat up, his hands numb from being under him as he slept.

"Sleep well?" he asked as he got out of bed, wrapping the bed sheet around his lower half.

"Like a baby." Dean replied, laughing when he turned around. "It's a little late for that, isn't it?"

There wasn't an inch of his body that Dean hadn't seen but he didn't feel like encouraging him today. He showered quickly, not wanting to give Dean any opportunity to intrude like he used to. By the time he was back in the bedroom, Dean was dressed and had packed up all of their things. Sam felt his eyes following him as he got dressed.

"Didn't she think it was weird?"

"A little less cryptic, Dean?"

"Your back."

Ah. Yes. His back. The old, faded scar on his shoulder, as large as his fist in the shape of a _D. _Dean's way of claiming him.

"I told her it was where a dog bit me."

"She bought that?" Dean was right behind him now, running his fingers over the thin white lines. "It's looking old, Sammy."

Sam tried to shrug him off but Dean held him firmly in place. He was smaller than him and no stronger, but he knew just where to hold, where to stand, what to say.

"I'm just looking. Calm down."

Sam flinched as he felt Dean's lips collide with his skin. He didn't kid himself that it was anything short of possessive.

"Come on, let's hit the road. Pass me my shirt," Sam said, moving away from him. He was not going to be late for his interview.


	5. Chapter 5

"Sammy, we're nearly there," Dean said, reaching across to shake him awake. He'd been tempted to turn to car around as soon as Sam had fallen asleep. If he missed his interview, he wouldn't have any reason to go back. But then he remembered that girlfriend of his and how he'd never forgive him for ruining his "future". Sam always had wanted to integrate with society. He hadn't stopped thinking about the girl though. She was pretty, in an obvious sort of way, which meant that Dean would have loved to tear he apart. In more way than one. Maybe he would. Maybe then he'd get his brother back, to himself, how it should be. He was pretty sure Sam didn't _love_ her or anything similar. He probably felt something. Attraction, maybe more. Dean often thought that possessivenes was the closest he'd ever get to feeling something genuine for another human being. He didn't see how Sam could feel close to her, though, not unless he'd let her know who he really was and he doubted that very much.

Ultimately, though, he knew it would be wrong. That girl hadn't done anything, to is knowledge. Their father had always told them that they should and could only kill killers, so that ultimately, their crimes prevented others. It had started when Dean had walked in on him strangling a woman. She was dead before he'd seen his son, standing there in his dressing gown looking confused and asking why there was a woman in the house. He didn't tell Dean that he thought it was the person that had killed his mother, not for a few years, not until he'd found out that he'd been wrong.

The two of them, the three of them once Sam had been old enough had been hunting murderers ever since. Of course, it had started as a way to stop anyone from going through what they had, the death of Mary had been hard on John and he had never really recovered. Arguably, involving his boys hadn't been the best parenting, but they'd never questioned it. He'd realised much to late the effect it had had on them, a little earlier and he'd have been able to keep Sam away from it all. His damage control had involved a long talk with the two of them about why they were stopping the killers, about why taking innocent people away from the people that loved them was the worst thing a person could do.

Dean knew, even if he couldn't understand it, that killing the blonde girl would be wrong. Someone probably cared about her. Sam cared about her in some way.

"Sam, wake up."

"Wh-wha?"

"We're here."

xxxx

Sam stretched as soon as he got out of the car, his back aching from the drive. He grabbed his bag from the back seat and walked to the door, feeling like he'd been away for much longer than he had.

"Er, you wanna come in for a bit?" he asked. Dean probably needed to stretch his legs as much as he did.

"Sure."

Inside, it was quiet. He hadn't expected a welcome, Jess hadn't known exactly when he'd be back, but he hadn't expected silence. There was a strange scent in the air, almost acrid. Sam walked quickly through the rooms. He found his bedroom door closed and knocked; Dean was behind him and he didn't want his brother seeing anything he wasn't entitled to. No answer. He turned the doorknob slowly, not quite wanting to see what was on the other side. Something was wrong.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"I don't know. Don't you smell that?" The scent was what was doing it. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. It was familiar, distantly, it reminded him of something just beyond his memory but it scared him.

"Open the door." Dean's voice was high. What was that? It wasn't fear.

Sam pushed the door open and his stomach dropped. Jess's eyes were still open, her face drained of all colour, clearly dead. Her hair was matted with blood and Sam wanted to grab her hand, to run over and embrace her body, like they did in the films but he couldn't because her head was all there was. Next to it, there was a black, charred mass and it was then that Sam recognised the scent. Burnt human flesh with... something else.

"Fuck, Sam..."

Dean's hand was on his shoulder, a strange attempt at comfort that also held him back.

"Isn't that what she was like?" he asked.

"Yeah..."

Severed head, burned remains. The exact way their mother had been found. Their father had said that the killer had most likely kept the head intact for maximum impact, but they'd never been sure. They'd never found the killer.

"Sam, listen to me," Dean said, walking around to face him. "We need to hide this. We need to get rid of her."

"What?"

"What would you do? Girl dies, boyfriend has no alibi and her body was found in the same way that his mother was."

"I wasn't even a year old when she died, Dean, what the hell?"

"It doesn't matter. Sam, I'm... I'm sorry, I really am, but we can't let anyone see her like this."

xxxx

"It's done."

Sam looked up at his brother and wanted to thank him, but he couldn't. Sure, he hadn't had to do it himself, but he couldn't thank anyone for disposing of his girlfriend.

"Are you okay?"

"Not really. I-" Sam wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. "I liked her, Dean. She was mine."

"I know. It'll be okay, I promise."

"No, it fucking wont. Not until we find the bastard that took her."

"Woah, Sammy-"

"No, Dean," Sam replied. He tried to explain it. He couldn't. "What if someone scratched up the Impala? Or, I don't know, what if someone cut off my head and burnt my body?"

"It's okay, Sam, we'll get 'em."


	6. Chapter 6

When you're trying to be quiet, every step you take, ever door you close seems to be irritatingly loud. Dean was trying his hardest to get into the hotel room without making any noise and he seemed to be failing. He was sure Sam would be asleep by now, it was two in the morning and they didn't get tv here, so he probably wouldn't have much to do. He walked into the main sleeping area and was surprised to see Sam stretched out on the bed that Dean had decided would be his earlier. The laptop was open, it looked like Sam had been trying to piggyback some wi-fi before he had fallen asleep. Dean pulled the laptop away carefully, he didn't want to wake Sam and get questioned about the night.

Washing your hands quietly is no easy task, especially when you need to get mud, blood and flesh out from under your nails. When Dean was confident that he'd gotten it all, he dried his hands quickly and went back to the bedroom. He'd shower in the morning. For now he just had to fall asleep and hope that he got something a little more interesting than another hermit in the woods killing campers.

xxxx

When Dean woke up, Sam was in the shower. After ten minutes, he decided he should probably check on him and after fifteen, he did.

"Sam? Are you alright in there?"

"Yeah, I'll be out in a sec."

There was movement, the sound of the water stopping. Footsteps, a pause, the snap of a towel and another pause and then Dean was looking up at his brother, dripping wet but otherwise okay.

"How long was I in there?"

"I don't know, I just woke up."

Dean wasn't staring. He really wasn't. It was just the scars, the tiny white marks around his collarbones, standing out against his tanned skin. They were small and there weren't too many of them but he knew where to look; they were the products of _his_ teeth, _his_ biting, when he forgot himself and had gone too far.

"You feeling better today?" Sam had been angry, really angry. Too angry to hunt. Dean hoped he'd be okay next time around.

"Yeah, much. I'll come with you on the next hunt."

"You sure? I mean-"

"I really think it'll help. I need to."

Dean saw Sam's eyes flick down to his arm. The makeshift bandage from the night before was stained red and needed changing. Before he could stop him, his brother's hands were on it, peeling it back, revealing the short but deep gash beneath it.

"Did it hurt?" Sam's voice was deeper than before, wavering.

"A little. I'm fine."

Dean saw the way he was looking at it. Longingly. His little brother, always the masochist.

"Sam, if that's the reason you want to come along, I could always help you out there."

Dean wanted Sam with him on his next hunt, he did, but he also knew what his weaknesses were. The lack of reply was enough to tell him that he had a chance. He flashed him a quick smile and went into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door. He didn't like the way that steam accumulated when he showered and he liked his water hot.

When he had finished washing every inch of himself, he stepped out of the bathroom, towel purposely low to collect his clothes. Sam was dressed, his tshirt and jeans criminally tight. He glanced up at Dean and held out his hand. The handle of the knife was shiny, recently polished and Dean just smiled. This was going to be fun.


	7. Chapter 7

[A/N: Warning for brief asphyxiation and some blood and knifeplay]

"So, what are you after?" Dean asked. He hadn't been with Sam in years and he wanted to know exactly what he was expecting. Not to mention... he wouldn't mind hearing him ask for it. Judging by the lack of fresh scars, bruises and cuts his brother had, he hadn't shared much with Jessica.

"Just... Dean you know what I want."

"So nothing's changed?"

"...No."

Dean walked towards him, taking the knife from him carefully, his arm slipping around his waist. The blade was sharp and Dean didn't want to make any cuts he didn't mean to. Besides the fact that it was best to keep them in places that people couldn't see (they'd learned that early on), Dean was methodical, even if he didn't look it. He liked his actions to mean something and Sam had always been the same. If you just went cutting and hurting wildly, everything lost meaning.

Dean ran the tip of the knife slowly up Sam's body, watching the fabric of his tshirt hitch up. When the knife reached the bare patch of skin revealed by the v-shaped neckline, Sam shuddered, a low moan coming from him as Dean pressed the edge of the blade against his neck.

"So, are you going to get this shirt off or am I going to have to cut it off of you?" Another moan and Sam was wrapping his arms around his waist, tugging at the bottom of hist tshirt. As he pulled it off over his head, Dean almost sighed. He could pretend all he wanted about there being nothing special about his brother but, damn, he was gorgeous. He watched as Sam's eyes dropped to the knife, his hand running through his hair and Dean though he looked a little like a puppy. A rabid puppy: all snarl and dark eyes. He couldn't remember when his little brother had turned into this, into some passionate, sinister, fucking delicious version of himself but he'd always hidden it well. To everyone else, he looked tame, harmless, but it took one flash of cold metal, one touch in the right place and he came undone and Dean had always loved it.

"Dean, I-"

"Shut up. Get on the bed."

Dean raised his eyebrow when Sam went to speak again and he stopped, his mouth hanging open for a second before he scrambled backwards, getting onto the bed. Like Dean knew he would. He remembered that Sam had always had a problem with authority, except when it came to him, when it came to situations like this. It was one of their things. One of the many things they shared, mirrored perfectly. Dean never really knew if it was a coincidence, or if Sam had just picked up on what he liked, or vice-versa.

He climbed onto the bed, pulling Sam's knees apart, moving between them. He was hard already. Dean felt him thrust his hips upwards, seeking friction. He trailed the knife over him again, pressing hard enough to make Sam shudder, almost hard enough to break the skin.

"Please, Dean..." Sam whimpered.

"Shut up, or you get nothing."

Sam's lips pressed together tightly and Dean smirked.

"Good."

He ran the knife up to Sam's collarbones and made a shallow cut, watching the blood slowly beading at the surface. He only gave the smallest whimper when Dean ran his tongue over the incision; Sam was biting his lip, trying to keep all of his noises in. Dean's cock was throbbing now, the towel barely covering anything as he sucked hungrily at Sam's clavicle. He let him thrust against him; he should stop him, he really should but the sensation was too good.

Sam bucked his hips and started to grind hard against him as Dean dragged the knife along him again, making another cut below the last, deeper this time. The blood flowed freely and he pressed his lips against Sam's skin. He was grinding harder now and Dean almost forgot when he was doing. His brother's breathing told him he had to put a stop to this or it'd be over very quickly.

"Sam, stop it."

A sound escaped his brother, half groan, half whimper, but he stopped moving. Dean shifted his hips, moving up his body slightly so he could kiss him, and Dean knew that Sam could taste his own blood as he bit he lips. He bit harder and Sam's hips twitched beneath him, a desperate moan vibrating against his mouth.

"What is it, Sammy?" A small twitch of annoyance, Sam thought that _Sammy_ made him sound like a child. "Tell me what you want."

Sam just stared up at him, his pupils dilated, his lips tightly closed.

"You can speak."

"I- Dean, I need..." he paused. Dean smirked, Sam always had a problem asking for this. He could fight, he could hunt, he could snap someone's neck at a moment's notice but he always got awkward when he needed to come.

"Come on, _Sammy. _I know you need it. Tell me you want it, tell me you're still my little slut."

Dean pressed the tip of the knife against Sam's ribs and he felt him shudder, his hips bucking again.

"Speak."

"I need to come, Dean. Please."

It must have been a while since he'd gotten any. Well, no, he probably got plenty from that girlfriend of his, but not how he needed it. Not like this. Dean hadn't even touched him yet, this was all from the knife, the blood. From a little friction and pain. That was all it had taken for him to come undone.

"Not yet. Me first."

Dean moved away, sat back between his brother's legs, pulling him up with him. Sam sat before him, his blood running in rivulets down his chest, seeping into his jeans. He was staring at Dean's hard cock, his lips moist with his own blood.

"Come on then, slut."

He didn't need to ask twice. Sam's head was between his legs before he could blink and Dean dug his fingers into his back as his mouth sunk down on his cock. He ran his hands over his skin and came to a stop when he felt the small bumps of the scars. He traced the _D_ with his fingertips, remembering when it had been new, when the blood had still been flowing. It had been their second time with the knife and Sam had begged him to do it. He'd thought it was too sentimental, stupid, but it sure did feel good claiming him as his own. He picked up the knife from the bed and _ohfuckthatthingwithhistongue. _

"Nghh, do that again," Dean said, lacing the fingers of his empty hand in his brother's hair, pulling hard. Sam's moan vibrated through him and he felt like he might just come already. He traced the knife over the scar and he felt Sam's shoulders tense, readying himself. As the tip reopened the old wound that had been cut into him many times, Sam swallowed, sinking lower on Dean's cock. His tongue flicked again, sending jolts right up Dean's spine and he had to urge himself to hold it, he had to finish his work. He ran the knife around the letter, rounding the incision. As the end of the curve joined up with the first cut, completing the letter, Sam flicked his tongue again and that was it, he was done. Dean held Sam's head down as he came, dropping the knife and pressing his now empty hand onto the fresh wound.

When he released him, Sam was gasping, his back searing, his lungs empty. Dean grinned at him and raised his hand to his mouth, holding it out for Sam to lick, cleaning his blood off.

"You always were a good cocksucker, weren't you?"

Sam only nodded, still breathing heavily. As he sat back, Dean saw that his cock was straining against his stained jeans. His crotch was wet with blood and precome and Dean knew that if this was with anyone else, Sam would have been tugging them off desperately. Now, though, now he was just waiting, his eyes pleading. Dean reached out and ran his fingers lightly over the bulge in his jeans and the noise Sam made was positively obscene.

"If you have anything to say, speak up."

"Please... fuck, Dean, please, I can't-" Another groan, louder this time as Dean squeezed his cock through the wet fabric. "_Please_."

Dean unbuttoned his jeans for him, sliding them down as he pulled his hips up to help him. He wasn't surprised to see that Sam wasn't wearing underwear; he'd probably only expected to be allowed to rub up against him and underwear only lessened the sensations. Faint red patches of sticky blood had seeped through the denim and Dean wanted to lean forwards and lick at them but he wasn't giving him that much. Not today.

The way Sam bit his lip as Dean wrapped his fingers around his cock told him it wouldn't matter. He wasn't going to have to do much. He squeezed, much too softly and began to stroke gently, slowly. The pleading sounds he was making were beautiful and Dean couldn't help but smile. He ran his other hand along his collarbone, his finger trailing around Sam's neck. Time to see if Sam still shared something else that they used to. He squeezed, gently at first, his pressure increasing as his fingers locked around his brother's throat. Not too hard, just enough to constrict his airflow, enough for Sam to feel the blood pounding in his head. His hips jerked wildly and Dean knew he hadn't changed at all.

Dean could take full credit for this one. He'd had a bit of a thing for strangulation, the way the soft skin felt under his hands, the way he could feel the pulse, the ragged breaths being pulled, the way he could hold someone still by pressing the right spots. He'd thought about it, he'd thought about the fact that he'd walked in on his father throttling someone and he'd linked it together. It wasn't a big deal, it was hardly the worst thing he'd picked up from his father. He remembered the time he'd asked Sammy to let him choke him, just for a bit. Sort of asked. He never truly asked his brother for anything. Of course, he'd loved it. He loved anything he knew he shouldn't. They were careful, though and as Dean saw Sam's eyes begin to roll, he loosened his grip.

Sam's hips were thrusting harder and Dean just let him, savouring the sight of him, covered in blood and thrashing for him. It didn't last long. A few more thrusts and Sam was positively panting, small moans and words escaping him. Words like _please_ and _fuck_ and _Dean_. Dean squeezed harder again and then Sam was coming, shuddering and gasping for breath as he was released from his brother's grip.

"Fuck, remind me why I left again?" he said when he'd finally recovered the ability to speak.

Dean just smirked. It was good to have his brother back.


	8. Chapter 8

[A/N: I've given up with trying to make everything accurate now, it's just too much hassle to get the dialogue correct, sorry. Everything will be deviating from the story, just because it's easier. Hope you all still enjoy it.]

"Dean, look at this," Sam said, holding the paper up. Two people had mysteriously disappeared around a lake. Assumed drownings.

"You think we should check it out?"

"Well it seems suspicious, doesn't it?"

"No... I mean, do you think _we_ should? Do you want to come?"

"Yeah, I'm curious. Drownings are rare."

"Good," Dean grinned. "You can do the investigating, then." Sam had always been better with people.

xxxx

Dean jumped when he heard the door open and close.

"Sammy?" He was back much earlier than expected.

"Don't call me that."

"What did you find out?"

"Well, apparently, the first one, a girl, was swimming when she went under. They've searched the lake and found nothing." Sam said, sitting on the opposite bed. "Her brother kept pestering the sheriff about it because, in his words, there was no way she would have just drowned."

"And the other two?"

"Well, the second was her brother. Nobody saw him go."

"So... siblings? Did you see any of the family?"

"Yeah, the dad. That's who I got all of this from," Sam said. "I don't think it was him, Dean."

Dean was sceptical. It was almost always the family, but he trusted Sam's judgement. While he found it impossible to understand emotions, Sam had always been able to isolate them. Only the best sociopaths had been able to fool him so far.

"So, what? Someone has it out for the family?"

"I don't know, maybe. He looked scared, threatened. He's definitely hiding something."

"What do you suggest?"

Sam smiled and Dean knew what was coming. "I suggest we scope out the lake."

Sam had always enjoyed the waiting, the watching and Dean thought it was probably because their father hated so would often leave them alone for long periods of time.

xxxx

"Comfy?" Sam watched Dean as he fidgeted in his seat, he never was good at sitting still. They'd been sitting in the Impala, watching the lake, for three hours now. So far, they'd seen nothing. Sam jumped as something touched his leg and he looked down to see Dean's hand running up his thigh.

"Wha-"

"Keep you eyes on the lake."

"But-"

"Eyes on the lake. Now."

Sam stared straight ahead as he felt Dean work his jeans open, his hand snaking inside and rubbing his cock slowly. Dean always had been good with his hands. Sam found it hard to concentrate as his brother squeezed and pulled, his other hand sliding up inside his shirt, grazing the wounds from the night before.

"Fuck! Now, really?" Sam groaned.

"Shut up, Sammy."

They'd done this before, but it was always the other way around. Dean got bored of the open road quickly and that would be Sam's cue to unbuckled his belt and slide down in his seat so he could mouth his cock through his jeans until Dean told him it was okay to take it out. He'd always liked it when their father was driving. They used to pretend they were asleep in the back of the car.

Now, though, this was weird. All he knew was that Dean kept smiling every time Sam spoke and he cut him off. Sam's hips jerked involuntarily as Dean continued and that was the thing about their experience together: if Dead wanted to distract him, he could do it effortlessly.

"Dean!"

"I told you Sammy, shut up."

"No! Dean, the lake..."

Dean pulled his hands away, looking out at the lake as a man got into a boat.

"Is that the father?"

"Yeah, what the fuck is he doing?" Sam asked as he tried to button his pants.

"Do you think we should get out?"

"I don't know, maybe," Sam said, shifting in his seat so he could get his pants done up, his erection straining against the fabric. Fuck, he needed it to go away, but the cuts on his ribs were still searing from Dean's touch and each jolt of pain sent jolt of a very different kind to his groin.

"Sam! Fuck, did you see that?"

Sam looked up at the lake. The boat was empty.

"What the fuck? I looked down for a second."

"There's something in the lake. Looked like a guy in a wetsuit."

"What? So what do we do now?"

"We wait, Sam. He's got to get out at some point."

Two hours later and they had him. The woods around the lake made the perfect spot. They carried the unconscious man into a small clearing, and waited. Dean stood back and watched his brother get to work, cutting the wetsuit off and binding his limbs, gagging him with more fabric than usual. They were in the woods, in the open. They were going to have to be careful.

The diver looked generic, dark hair, dark eyes, average everything. Dean was glad that he'd seen him, that they'd caught him. There was no way they'd have been able to track down a guy like that. It wasn't long before his eyes were fluttering open and then his eyes were wide, his body thrashing and attempting to roll over.

"Hey, hey, don't waste your time," Dean said, pressing his foot into the man's shoulder.

Sam had his knife out already and Dean saw him inspect the blade, as if he hadn't already spent an hour cleaning his own blood off of it.

"Okay, now, we're going to ask you a few questions and you're going to answer them," Dean said. The man on the ground shouted something that was muffled behind his gag. If he had to make a guess, Dean would have guessed it was something along the lines of _why the fuck should I?_

"If you don't cooperate? My boy Sammy here is going to slit your throat in an instant. Now, all I want to know is why. Why you've killed three people. Are you going to tell me?"

Another muffled shout.

"Okay, one chance. I'm going to remove your gag and you're going to tell me your name and... reasons. If you shout, scream,_ anything..._ you die. Right there."

The expression on the man's face shifted. Confusion, thoughfulness and then reason. Dean crouched and shifted the gag aside.

"I- what the fuck am I here for?" the man rasped.

"Answer the questions," Dean said and Sam walked over to them, absent mindedly twisting the knife between his fingers.

"Jack... my name's Jack," the man said, eyeing the blade fearfully.

"And? You just like watching people drown?"

"Sometimes." There was a glint in Jack's eyes that Dean recognised. It was the same one he saw in his father's, in Sam's.

"Well, I'm afraid we can't just let you do that," Dean said.

"It's a bit hypocritical, isn't it?" Jack asked. "This plastic you've put me on? Don't think I don't know what you're planning."

"It's to stop you," Sam interjected. He'd always been the one to worry about whether or not what they were doing was right or not.

"Yeah? Well maybe they deserved it, too. Who are you to judge me?"

"What do you mean?"

"That man? The one I've got at the bottom of the lake right now? He killed my brother," Jack said. "When we were kids, I saw him. He held him under in that lake. Then? Then he just went right ahead and hid the body, weighed it down. I watched my mother fall apart when he was missing."

"And his kids?"

"I wanted him to know what loss felt like before I killed the bastard."

"Well, Jack, it doesn't work like that," Sam said as he secured the gag back in place.

Dean looked at the scene: Jack looked angry, but fearful, Sam... he didn't know. This happened sometimes. This happened just before he'd decided to quit, to have a normal life. He was questioning his motives, his morals.

"Sam, we're not like him. We're going to kill him to stop anyone else from being killed. That's different."

He saw Sam look down at the blade in his hands and a small smile began to form on his lips.

"Oh, don't worry, Dean. I know."

"But... you were looking indecisive," Dean said.

"Yeah. I'm not sure I want to kill him. I think," Sam paused as he stood up and walked towards him. "I think I'd like to see you do it. Slowly."

Dean stood there, confused, as Sam walked to the trunk of the car and opened it, pulling out two bottles of water. He stuffed another strip of fabric into the man's mouth and handed the bottles to Dean and it was a few seconds before he understood.

"Like this, really?"

"However you want to. I just thought you might enjoy it this way."

Dean knelt beside the man that was now eyeing the water suspiciously. He opened the bottle and poured it over his mouth, watching it seep into the cloth wadded in his mouth. Instantly, he began breathing desperately through his nose, his eyes wide with terror. Dean looked up to see Sam leaning back against a tree, his erection obvious. His hands were behind his back. He was trying to resist. He always _tried_. Dean poured more of the water over the cloth, letting some spash upwards, hearing Jack splutter as it ran down into his nostrils.

When the first bottle was empty, Dean set it down and just watched Jack panic. He placed his hands around his neck and squeezed, just hard enough to restrict the air flow, to make his breaths harder. When the man's eyes started to roll, he let him go and opened the second bottle. His gasps for air were fruitless as he breathed in the water now falling onto the gag.

Dean heard a gasp from behind him and he knew Sam had given in. As he half emptied the second bottle, Dean noticed the light purple tinge spreading across Jack's lips and he knew he wasn't going to last much longer. Judging from the sounds he could hear from behind him, though, neither was Sam. He pressed down on the man's throat again, focusing on the feeling of the skin beneath his fingers. He didn't have to worry about crush marks, not now. Before he even knew what he was doing, Dean was squeezing harder and he felt the spasming muscles in Jack's throat slow and then stop completely.

At that moment, he heard a grunt from Sam and, damn, it was a shame he'd had his hands full.

"You done already? Sam called.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Yeah, well, you got me pretty close in the car, okay?"

The body burned quickly, they always did when there wasn't blood everywhere. When they got back into the car, Sam was about to ask Dean where they were going to go next when his brother's phone rang.

He watched as Dean answered, his expression sliding quickly frome exhaustion to shock.

"Dad?"


	9. Chapter 9

[A/N: As per request, I'm adding John into the story now, as you may have guessed. If you have a problem with father/son incest, or daddy kinks, I suggest you stop reading. I'll also put a warning here for: derogatory name calling, rimming, anal sex, spanking and asphyxiation, although they might be in the next chapter.]

Sam was pacing the room when Dean got back. They didn't get any reception in the room and Dean had been waiting outside for over an hour, hoping for a second call.

"Well?" Sam asked.

"He'll be here in six hours. We should get some sleep for now, we don't know what we'll need to do when he gets here."

Their father had asked Dean where they were staying the first time and then hung up. They'd been waiting for two days for another call.

"That was all he said?" Sam asked, a little disappointed.

"Yes. Sleep, come on."

XXXX

Dean awoke with the alarm. They had half an hour til their father's ETA and he was never late. He nudged Sam on the way to the shower and made sure he could hear him moving in the next room before he got under the water. He washed quickly and was out and patting himself dry by the time Sam joined him in the bathroom. He resisted the urges to touch, to join him back in the shower. He didn't know how long they'd be with their father, wherever it was they were going but... they really didn't have time. He tried not to think about his brother in the shower as he got dressed and checked their bags. When he was certain there was nothing they'd forgotten, he flopped back onto one of the beds. Twenty minutes to go. He pulled a quarter from his pocket and slotted it into the box beside the bed, sinking back as the vibrations started.

"Dean, get up."

Sam's voice broke him out of... whatever that had been. What had he been thinking about again? The vibrations were still pulsing through him, he couldn't have spaced out for more than a few minutes.

"We still have time, we still have time..." he mumbled as he sank back again.

"Dean! Dad'll be here in fifteen minutes. We can't go out there with you like, well, like that."

The vibrations stopped and Dean opened his eyes to see Sam shaking his head. He didn't even need to ask if he could borrow a quarter. No.

"What's the big deal?" Dean asked as he stood up. His erection would go down by the time his father got here, it wasn't a problem. Well, fuck, it would if Sam hurried up and got dressed.

When there were only five minutes to go, they grabbed their bags and checked out. The were standing by the side of the road when he pulled up, right on time.

"I'd get out and hello and everything but we need to get moving," John said. "Get in."

Damn. If he sat up front... no. Sam could take the front seat. He didn't want to risk his father giving away what they'd gotten up to since Sam had gone off to college, not after all of the years that Sam had spent hiding what they got up to as brothers.

XXXX

Sam sat down in the front seat and tried not to focus on how awkward this was. The last time he'd seen his father, they'd had a huge argument and the time before that, he'd been riding his cock. He didn't quite know why but he was desperately hoping that Dean wouldn't find out. After all of the times they'd almost been caught together, all of the times they'd lied to their father to cover up what they'd really been doing, he though Dean might find it some kind of a betrayal.

"So, are you going to tel us what the fuck is going on?" Dean asked from the back seat after a few minutes of silence.

"I was on the trail of someone and I thought he might be following me, so I had to cut contact for a bit," John replied.

"And? Did you find him?"

"No, but I was right about him tracking me. Or us, at least," he said. He turned around to look at Sam. "I'm sorry to hear about your girlfriend. That... that should have never happened to you."

Sam nodded. He didn't really want to talk about that now.

"So you mean you were tracking the person that killed them? Mom and Jess?" Sam asked.

"Think so. Either that or it's a huge coincidence."

"And where are we going now?" asked Dean.

"When I was doing some research, another persn kept coming up. I don't think he's the one, but I think he might know a thing or two."

"And why do you need us?" Sam asked.

"You boys were always more persuasive than me. I figure I'm going to need your help cracking him."

They drove in silence for an hour, none of them knowing what to say. There were a few glances here and there and Sam really hoped that they could get wherever they were going soon.

XXXX

When Sam awoke it was dark. He wasn't sure how far they gone or how long he'd been aleep.

"Nearly there," John said. The car rounded a corned and pulled into a hotel parking lot. "We can head out in the morning. You two get the bags, I'll sort the room."

Sam and Dean pulled everything out of the car and split it between themselves. When the got into the hotel, their father was done with the booking and they followed him to their room.

"This was the last one they had," John said. As Sam dropped the bags onto the floor, he noticed the beds.

"Seriously? Well who gets the single?" he asked. There was one kingsize and one single. He checked to see if the double was just made of two singles pushed together, like most cheap hotels, but no luck. He wanted to ask for the single, but he didn't want to draw attention to anything. Either way, if he was sharing a bed with either of them tonight, he knew something was going to happen.

"I was thinking you two could take the double. You used to all the time when you were kids," John said.

Sam looked at Dean quickly, who just shrugged. How bad could it be? Maybe Dean would keep his hands to himself, but he doubted it. He remembered one of those times he'd had to share a bed with his brother in a similar situation. They'd both agreed not to do anything, not when their father was sleeping so damn close, not when he'd gone to bed sober for once and Dean had just pretended to sleep next to him, biting himself _in his sleep _until he was bleeding and Sam couldn't have helped himself.

When the lights were turned off and they were all in bed, Sam realised how awake he was. He knew there was no way he was going to be able to sleep. Their father's breathing slowed sooner than expected. He probably hadn't gotten much sleep lately. Sam opened his eyes and looked over at his bed. He was lying on his side, facing his father, hoping that it would deter Dean from trying anything.

"See, he's asleep already. What's the problem?" Dean whispered.

"What's the problem with just leaving it? We don't _have_ to do anything, you know."

"But I want to. You were gone for too long."

"Just go to sleep," Sam replied. He thought he'd won for a moment until he felt Dean move up against his back, practically spooning him. His erection pressed into his spine and Dean's fingers slid up under his shirt, feeling the _D_ he'd cut into him. Sam winced as he did so, the wound was still fresh and it burned at his touch.

"Come on, Sam. Doesn't have to be much. Just touch me."

Sam knew he wasn't going to win. He never did. His traitor of a cock was already half hard from Dean's touch and he rolled over until he way lying on his back, his brother following suit. He began to move his hand downwards to Dean's crotch but then he froze when he heard a voice.

"What are you doing?" It wasn't Dean. The voice was deeper, gravelly. John was sitting up in the bed beside them and he moved to turn on the lamp on the shelf between them. The thin sheets did nothing to hide their erections and the position of Sam's hand. _Fuck._

Dean was the first to try to make his excuses but their father help up his hand to stop him.

"Sam, get your hand off of you brother. I thought we'd discussed this."

Sam remembered the first time his father had approached him, the first time he'd fucked him. It was when he'd thought he'd gotten away with sucking Dean's cock in the back of the car on a particularly boring drive. That evening, when Dean was in the shower, John had told Sam how disgusting he thought it was. It was disrespectful to do something like that with someone else in the car.

"Sam, answer me. We've discussed this, haven't we? I've told you that I do not think it acceptable for you to do things like that when there is someone else in the same room or vehicle. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Sam remembered this, too. It was hard to forget.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. He looked away from Dean. He didn't want to see his face when he added the last word. "Daddy."


	10. Chapter 10

Dean couldn't hide his shocked expression as those words fell from his brother's mouth or when he stood up, getting out of bed, without being asked. His father walked over to the chair in the corner of their room and pulled it out into the middle of the empty space at the foot of the beds.

"Come on, don't keep me waiting," he said, motioning at the chair. Dean sat up against the headboard and watched as Sam walked over to the chair and placed the his palms against the back of the chair. He walked his feet backwards, leaning against the chair and pushing his hips upwards. His underwear was hanging loosely from his hips and Dean was only vaguely aware of what he expected to come next. John walked over to Sam and tugged his underwear down to his ankles, throwing them aside when he stepped out of them. Dean had been used to his father sleeping fully clothed in case of emergency, but he looked strangely overdressed now, next to Sam.

"Now Sam, what am I going to do?"

Sam mumbled something that Dean couldn't quite hear.

"No, Sam. I want you to say it so your brother can hear it. I want him to know what happens when you misbehave. Say it."

"You're going to spank me."

"And why am I going to do that?"

"B-Because," Sam said, his voice faltering. "Because I was disrespectful."

"Are you sorry?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me. Properly.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. "I'm sorry for being disrespectful, Daddy."

Dean didn't know what to think. He was surprised at how quickly Sammy had slipped into this... role. They'd obviously done this before. A lot. Not that he could be mad, or jealous, not after what he'd been doing with his father since his brother had left them, it was just surprising. He watched as his father placed a hand softly on Sam's ass, moving it in small circles. Dean could see his brother trembling in anticipation and he thought it might just be rubbing off on him. He bit his lip waiting for his father's hand to rise and he heard Sam whimper when it did. John brought his hand down again with a firm _SMACK_, loud enought to almost drown out Sam's groan.

"Thank you, Daddy."

Another slap came down before Sam had time to expect it and he whimpered.

"Thank you."

Dean palmed his erection through his underwear as he watched John lay another firm smack across Sam's cheek, his skin beginning to flush red under the force. Sam just whined and thanked him again, his hips jutting up higher. He watched as his father raised his hand and kept it there for five... ten... he got to thirteen seconds before Sam was trembling again, words practically falling out of his mouth.

"Please, Daddy, I did wrong. I'm sorry, Daddy, need it, deserve it."

Dean caught the twitch of a smirk on his father's face as he brought another firm palm down onto Sam's ass and the noise he made was too much. Dean slid his hand under his boxers and grasped his cock, stroking it, almost fucking coming every time John brought his hand down on Sam's slowly reddening skin, every time Sam thanked him.

"You better have been counting, boy," John said. Sam made a noise that sounded like he just remembered that he had to breathe.

"Y-yes. Fifteen, Sir."

"Okay, well I think that's enough for now, then. Stand up, baby."

Dean watched his brother move away from the chair. His ass was practically glowing, an obvious handprint stamped red into his flesh. Dean let out a groan as he squeezed his cock and his father span round to look at him.

"Dean, behave."

_Fuck. _He pulled his hands out of his underwear and laced his fingers together, trying to focus on the pressure on his knuckles instead of the aching in his groin. Dean thought that they were done, but then his father had an arm around Sam's waist.

"I've missed you, son."

"I've missed you, too, Daddy," Sam replied.

John hitched Sam's legs up around his waist and carried him back to his bed, laying him down on his back. It looked odd, Dean thought. Nobody should be able to carry Sam like that. Dean saw his brother wince, his facing flushing with arousal as the sore skin of his ass brushed against the fabric sheets. He twitched as pressed rough kisses against his jaw, moving quickly down towards his cock. Dean thought he was going to see something he never thought he'd see: his father giving Sammy a blowjob, but John went straight past his cock, to much protest from Sam.

"Hush now," John said, in stark contrast to how he treated Sam only moments before. Sam gasped as John's lips pressed against the edge of his ass, his facial hair rough against the tender skin. He reached down and opened himself, moaning softly as his father's tongue darted into him. He started to whimper and thrust into the air as John sucked and licked at his hole. He was trembling again by the time he stopped, replacing his tongue with his fingers. Dean bit his lip as Sam pushed down, trying desperately to fuck himself onto the fingers pressing into him and before he knew it, he was crawling across the bed to get a better look.

Sam looked so perfect on his back like that, looking like any coherent thoughts had been lost at some point duing the spanking. He was groaning loudly, thrusting up and down on the bed and Dean knew that his ass must be sore. His cock was twitching occasionally and Dean just wanted to reach out and touch him. He tried but the creaking of the bed betrayed him and his father looked up, a smirk crossing his face. He pulled his fingers slowly out of Sam and gave a last kiss to his hole.

"Sorry Sam, I'll be right back. Your brother obviously wants some punishment, too."

Dean's stomach flipped. He'd done things with his father lately, but it hadn't been anything like this. Sam was the painslut. Sometimes, when John was stressed, Dean let him choke him. He wondered if Sam had let him do that, Sam would enjoy that. He watched as his father took off his belt. Fuck, surely not? Dean, he liked pain, but there was a difference between beating pain and cutting pain and he wasn't sure he was ready for this. That's why it shocked him when his father grabbed his wrists and forced them behind his back, securing them tightly with the belt.

"No touching. Yourself or anyone else."

"Wha- why?"

"Because I just spanked your brother for touching you but you were urging him to do it," John said. "Plus, you marked him. Do that if you want, but you can't just expect me to not punish you."

Dean watched his father walk back over to Sam, who had finally stopped trying to hump the air. He was pretty sure that was about to change, though. John pulled a bottle of lube out from his bag and squeezed some onto his fingers, making Sam yelp when he pressed them into him again. As Dean watched his brother start to move again, he strained against the belt around his wrists. He needed some kind of friction; all he could see was Sam twitching and thrusting.

"Do you want to ride me, baby?" John asked, pulling his cock out of his pants.

"Ngh, please, Daddy," Sam begged, trying to follow his hand as John slowly pulled his fingers out of him again. He got off the bed and dragged the chair around again, so that Dean could see it. He sat on the chair and motioned for Sam to come over. He almost stumbled as he raced to get over to the chair and, with John's help, he straddled his lap. Dean whimpered as he saw their cocks rub against each other, he wanted to just be there with them and lick, taste. Sam pushed his feet into the floor, standing up slightly and positioning himself over the tip of his cock.

"Come on baby, do it for me."

Sam groaned as he lowered himself slowly, stretching himself open on John's cock. Dean couldn't see how Sam was going to last much longer, not knowing his brother and what he'd already received. He tried raising his legs, folding them into a foetal position, to try to get some friction, but one glance from his father told him to stop.

"Please," Dean whimpered. He was so hard that he couldn't fucking stand it. He decided to try something. "Daddy? Please?"

John's mouth twitched at his words, but Dean wasn't sure if that was just because Sam had pushed himself further onto his cock.

"Be patient Dean. You'll get what you want, if you can stop being such a goddamn slut."

Just then, Sam wrapped his legs around the back of the chair, his arms around John's neck. He waited for John to grab hold of his hips and thrust into him, making him start to moan, words forming on his lips.

"Oh, fuck. Fuck me Daddy, harder."

Dean's legs were shaking as he watched them, John's fingers tracing over the letter carved into Sam's back, trailing his fingers down his spine and digging his nails into his hips. He watched Sam lean forwards, pressing his cock against his father's torso for friction, his lip pressed hard between his teeth, a trickle of blood beginning to run down his chin. Oh _fuck,_ Dean wanted, needed to go over there. He needed the taste of Sam's blood on his tongue.

Dean could hear Sam's breathing now, it was shallow and quick and Dean knew he was close. He watched as his father pulled Sam down harder onto his cock and then Sam whimpered loudly as John squeezed the base of his cock, hard, to stop him from coming.


	11. Chapter 11

"Not yet, baby, you're going to have to wait," John said, gripping Sam's hips tightly. Dean ran his teeth over his lower lip, giving himself something to focus on. He just fucking needed something. _Need _was pulsing through him, swimming just under his skin. He hadn't felt like this since he'd gone two weeks without a hunt.

And then the choking started. Dean watched as his father wrapped one arm around Sam's lower back, holding him upright and continuing to thrust as his other ran up to his neck, fingers pressing into the skin until Sam started to make that noise Dean loved so much. It reminded him of the times when he'd gotten to be alone with his brother to properly have fun. The times when they'd paint the sheets red.

Sam was rolling his hips, thrashing about on his father's lap. He was making small mewling sounds as he tried to grind against him and Dean knew that he was trying to come. Dean bit down on his lip as he looked over the whole scene, it was too much. He knew that if he could get just one touch, one bit of friction, he'd be coming. He needed it but there was nothing he could do.

John's fingers closed tighter around Sam's throat as he came and Dean couldn't help but whimper. Sam gasped as his father released his throat. John's hand ran down his body and started to pump his cock fast and it wasn't long before he was twitching and coming.

"Th-thank you, Daddy."

Dean shuddered when his father looked up at him.

"You want in, son?"

"Y-Yes, Sir." Dean could barely stop himself from shaking.

"Good. Take care of your brother, clean him up."

John stood up and carried Sam over to the bed, setting him down next to Dean. He was breathing heavily, his stomach covered in come, dark bruises already starting to show on his throat and hips.

"Get going, then," John said and Dean just looked at him.

"Aren't you going to untie me?"

"This first."

"Yes, sir."

Dean moved backwards, going slowly to stay balanced. His wrists were starting to ache from the binding as he knelt between Sam's thighs, looking down at the dried blood on his chin. He heard his father sit down on the bed beside them as he licked Sam's abdomen, cleaning the semen off of him quickly. He needed to get his hands free.

Dean looked up at his father when he was finished, hoping that he would come and unbind him.

"You're not finished, Dean," John said, smirking. "He's still dirty."

Dean moved further up Sam's body, listening to his quiet moaning sounds as he licked the blood that had dripped down onto his chest, stretching to clean his chin and lips. They kissed roughly and Dean managed to rub himself up against Sam's stomach. He moaned into his mouth, thrusting and shaking. His entire body weight was resting on Sam's chest as he moved, his wrists tingling from the lack of blood.

"Dean!" John shouted and pulled him back upright. "You goddamn slut. You need to learn some self restraint, boy."

Dean felt himself being pushed down Sam's body, his mouth ghosting over his brother's cock. It was starting to harden again but John kept pushing until Dean's mouth was pressed up against Sam's ass, the skin still flushed red.

"I told you to make sure he was clean."

Dean pressed his tongue into Sam, tasting his father's come inside him. He licked as much as he could, but the position he was in made it impossible to finish. He turned his head, rolling his shoulders so he could look up at his father.

"Are you done?"

"No, I can't... I need my hands."

John reached down to unbuckled the belt and Dean felt a sharp pain as the blood flowed back into his hands. His cock twitched as the pain spread up his arms and, fuck, he needed to come. He balled his hands into fists repeatedly, trying to get back the use of his fingers. When he thought he was ready, he got back between Sam's legs, pulled his cheeks open and went back to work. Sam winced at the contact; Dean could feel how warm the skin still was. He licked until he was sure he was clean, focusing hard on the task to stop himself from thrusting against the bedsheets.

When he was finished, Dean sat up and looked at his father.

"Finished?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. No you can do what you like."

Dean felt Sam's hand on his shoulder, pulling him back down onto him. They kissed again and Dean tasted copper on his brother's lips. That was it, he couldn't wait any longer.

"Sammy, if I don't come soon, I swear I'm going to lose it," he said, thrusting up against his brother again.

Sam sat up and pushed him down hard on the bed. Dean balled his fists in the sheets as he felt Sam's hot mouth sink onto his cock. He was all too aware of his father watching them and, damn, he wanted to come so badly but he forced himself to hold it. He didn't want to look like he couldn't control himself.

"Fuck, Sammy..." Dean groaned and he couldn't help but thread his fingers through his brother's hair. He wound his fingers around, tugging at the strands, making Sam moan onto his cock. He gripped tightly as Sam's tongue flicked and swirled and, _fuck_, he wasn't going to last. Dean felt the waves of his orgasm building in his stomach as Sam started to thrust against his leg.

The licking, sucking, Sam's moans that were vibrating through him, everything was pushing closer and then Sam's nails were digging into his thighs. Dean came hard, pulling Sam's head down as his hips bucked upwards.

When he opened his eyes again, Dean pulled Sam upwards and kissed him, biting at his lips, tasting his own semen on his tongue.

"Want me to suck you, now?" he breathed, feeling Sam still thrusting against him.

"Ngh, yes."

Dean sat up and bit his way down Sam's body, holding him on the bed as he thrashed beneath him. He licked at Sam's cock, amazed at how hard he was already. He nipped at Sam's hipbone quickly.

"Dean... please..."

Dean went back to his cock, sinking down onto it, dragging his teeth lightly over the tender skin. He sucked hard, running his hand over the hips that he knew bore the finger marks from only minutes before. He heard the bed next to him creak but didn't look up. Suddenly, Sam's moaning quietened, his breaths shallow and raspy. Dean looked up and saw his father on the bed behind Sam's head, his large hands gripping his throat again. Dean could see his pupils, blown wide, his irises remaining only as thin slits as he fought to draw breath.

He flicked his tongue over the tip of Sam's cock and felt his brother tense under him. He looked up and saw that his eyes were fluttering, his mouth slackening. Dean knew that Sam was drifting, the lack of oxygen starting to affect him. He gasped as John's hands loosened, allowing him a few precious gulps of air before they closed around him again.

Dean felt Sam's hips shuddering as he sank low on his cock, letting Sam fuck his throat. His thrusts were long, deep, slowly becoming shallow as Sam got closer. Dean tightened his lips around him as Sam came. They were both gasping for air when the three of them separated.

They didn't say another word to each other that night but Dean knew that it was the best night's sleep he'd gotten in months.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean sat in the diner and waited for Sam to return. He was starting to get nervous now, he was supposed to have been back ten minutes ago. After _speaking_ to the man that they had thought might have had some information, speaking very calmly and quietly as their father held a knife against his neck, they had found out the possible whereabouts of the man that may have killed their mother and Jess.

John had decided that they needed more evidence, so he had sent Sam to distract the man whilst he broke into his house. Sam had gone to his workplace. The plan had been to make it look like he was being watched, so Sam was hanging around; it was a risky plan, but it was the best they had and Sam could handle himself. At least, Dean thought he could.

After another twenty minutes, John entered the diner, his eyebrows raising when he spotted that Dean was alone.

"Where's your brother?" he asked as he reached the table.

"He's... not back yet." Dean tried to keep his worry out of his voice. He wasn't one for caring, but Sam... Sammy was one thing that meant something to him. He tried his phone and got nothing, it didn't even ring. Sam would never have turned his phone off.

XXXX

Sam shifted, trying desperately to get comfortable. Hours ago, his body had gone numb and he'd been thankful, but now, now it was somehow painful. The absence of any feeling, how was that hurting him? He couldn't see anything, the room was completely black in the way that almost seemed to press into his eyes, like the darkness was alive and solid. The static in his ears had become part of him within minutes, making him forget anything he had tried to remember about where he had been taken. It seemed to be coming from his right. If he had to, he'd guess that he had one earplug in.

Suddenly, there was light and it was blinding. It was gone before he could even blink and Sam heard a click over the static playing through the static. He expected lights to come on, it had sounded like a light switch, but he stayed in the dark. He felt someone moving closer to him, vaguely heard footsteps and he tried to shake the fuzziness out of his head.

"Hello, Sammy."

It was automatic. "Don't fucking call me that."

"Oh, come now. Don't be like that," the voice said. "Look, I'll make this easier for you."

There was another click and the static stopped. His ears felt strange. He hadn't realised the way the sound had felt as it ran through his body until it had been taken away.

"How can you see?" he asked.

"Infra-red. Do you know how long you've been here?"

"No idea. Four hours?"

"Oh. Really? I think you must have fallen asleep. It's been ten."

Sam wondered what Dean and his father were doing. Were they looking for him?

"Why am I here?" he asked quickly. He remembered watching the man the his father had pointed out to him, remembered that he had to distract him and not kill him. He remembered losing sight of him and then waking up in a car before being thrown in here.

"I thought we should finally get to know each other."

"Are you... did you kill them?"

"Your mother? Your girlfriend? Oh yes."

"Why? Why would you do something like that?"

"Don't pretend you don't understand, _Sammy_. You know what it's like to kill."

"I also know what it's like to lose someone."

"No you don't."

That hit him. What the fuck? How could he just stand there – at least Sam thought he was standing – and say that.

"Sam, you can't know what it's like to lose someone if you don't know what it's like to love someone. Don't fucking pretend you do."

"Well maybe I would if you hadn't killed my mother." He should have been shouting, he knew it, but he didn't have it in him. He was tired, exhausted even.

"Okay, well I'm tired of this. You asked me why you were here. You were following me. I was tired of it, so I brought you here. I would have tortured you by now if I didn't think you'd enjoy it."

There was a click and Sam heard the static start up again and then the man was walking away. He pre-emptively squeezed his eyes shut, but the light still burned his eyes through his eye lids. Some time later, the man returned with food and Sam had to eat blindly, opening his mouth to receive mouthfuls of what he thought might have been a BLT.

A day later (although Sam thought he could have been in the room for a week), he hadn't been spoken to again, all of his questions ignored. His captor had come in occasionally, to give him food and water. It wasn't until the man had helped him use the toilet that Sam had realised that he was naked.

It was the boredom that was killing him. He couldn't think from the static and the humming pumping into his ears. Even if he could have, he didn't know what he would have thought about. That's what he thought until it got worse. Later, he would wish more than anything that he could go back to the boredom.

The door opened and closed. Sam was confused. He had been to the toilet quite recently, or so he thought and he couldn't smell food.

"Hello." There was a click and the noises in his right ear faded.

"What do you want?" Sam asked.

"I've been a bit bored. You see, I usually use this space occasionally, but with you here, I can't bring anyone else back. And as I said, I don't think I can torture you. It's been getting to me."

"What? Sorry if I'm cutting into your torture time..."

"Don't make me out to be something terrible, Sam. You're the same. I'm surprised you lasted so long before without a kill. Of course, that was only because you were taking it out on yourself."

"So what? You can't torture anyone so you want a chat?"

"No, I changed my mind. I've decided to do it anyway."

Sam didn't know what to say. He was supposed to be worried, or at least annoyed, but to be honest, he was just glad that he didn't have to be bored any more. It wasn't like he could do much about it anyway, even if he did get out of whatever was binding him, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to move his limbs.

"Not got anything to say, Sammy?"

"Nope."

Sam felt the man approach him. A finger ran across his face, brushing his hair out of his face and he shuddered at the touch. Barely feeling anything since he'd gotten here had made him overly sensitive. Sudden cold on his shoulder made him realise that they were going down the knife route. Sam hated that he was looking forward to it.

"You actually do like this, don't you? Interesting."

Sam whimpered when the blade was taken away. Not being able to see anything was starting to frustrate him. He felt it press into his thigh quickly and then it was gone again. He felt his cock harden in anticipation, heard the man chuckle as he tried not to look pissed off.

"This _is_ going to be fun."


	13. Chapter 13

Sam grunted as he felt hands over his body, gasped as he was slammed against the wall, shuddering as he hit the cool... tiles... the room was tiled. He was curled into a loose foetal position, with his arms tied behind his back, his ankles secured with something strong. Suddenly the knife was at his throat, a sharp biting pain telling him that his skin had been broken. Warmth seeped down his neck; Sam could smell the metallic scent of blood filling the air.

Thoughts of Dean filled his head as a hand closed around his throat, the pressure burning against the cut. Was he looking for him? Were they both looking for him? Were they fucking without him? No. Sex wasn't what he should be thinking about. Not now. He was trying hard to ignore the throbbing of his cock. Why was his captor doing this? Sam couldn't help but be suspicious.

"Come on, Sam, don't scowl at me like that. I know you want this."

Sam squirmed as the tip of the knife was pressed gently against his collarbone, not quite hard enough to break the skin and he couldn't help but let out a desperate whimper. Fuck.

"What's wrong? You want me to press harder?"

No. No. No. He wasn't going to give in to this. He looked down, away from nothing and just bit his lip as the blade danced over his skin, lighter than before, only just scratching. Hands pressed and pulled, stroking his neck, ghosting over his hard cock and, fuck, Sam wanted him to go further.

"Come on, baby, I just need you to ask me," came a voice.

No. Sam's hips bucked up as he cried out; he could feel the cold of the knife against his hipbone, fingers gently wrapping around his cock.

"You just gonna draw this out longer than you have to? We both know you're a little slut, just ask me already."

Sam bit his lip to lessen his whimper as the hand around his cock started to move, much too slowly, the grip much too loose. He thrust into the fist, trying his hardest to get some friction but it was no good.

"J-Just... just fucking do it," he begged, not really know what he was asking for.

A chuckle. "That wasn't very nice, Sam. I want you to ask me nicely."

A quick squeeze and the hand on his cock was gone, nails dragging against his skin and he just needed something, he needed to feel something.

"Fuck. _Please."_

"That's more like it," the voice said again.

Sam groaned as the knife pressed into him again, the hand sliding back around his cock and squeezing hard enough this time. He thrust up, his mind slipping back to Dean, back to those eyes, back to the way he knew were to touch and bite. He thought of how he didn't have to feel guilty with Dean, he didn't have to feel like he was betraying anyone. He thought of what Dean would probably say right now. This was fucking wrong. So deliciously wrong.

Sam felt himself getting close embarrassingly fast. He groaned and thrashed twisting his hands against his bonds, feeling them bite into his joints. He wasn't coming this soon. That was just fucking shameful.

"It's alright, _Sammy. _You can come for me."

Fuck. He could feel jolts of pleasure running up his spine. He heard the knife be placed down on the floor, the empty hand sliding up his body, closing around his throat again. How did he know to do this? Sam gasped, struggling to breathe, savouring the sudden burn in his chest, the searing pain against the cut from earlier and he was there. His hips were thrashing and he would have been begging if he could breathe.

Then suddenly, everything was gone. He continued thrusting into the air, he thought for a second that he was still going to be able to come but he couldn't.

"N-No.. please, fuck, please..."

He heard laughter and footsteps. A flick of a switch and he could hear static, another and he assumed the infra-red had been turned off.

"Did you not remember me telling you I wanted to _torture _you?"

Sam sat there, trying to move in a way that would help, he just needed a few more seconds. The static in his head was vibrating through him, teasing his body. If that was only a little louder, maybe in both ears, Sam thought he might have been able to. He was that close. He bit hard on his lip but it wasn't enough.

He wished he could just have the boredom back.


End file.
